The Escapist By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
What happened here, on a globe of dirt and water, on dusty ground below moons,
on dry grass softening the stories in my back,
on nights where red doesn't mean stop and scars below the skin feel like prose,
under a dounding weightwith arms tense beside my shoulders,
with sounds breathless from you,
while I can feel and see the torn leggings like torn legs,
where it tears and cries in frozen thoughts,
how you bathed in alcohol and I was your unwilling towel,
while remembering makes everything hurt,
and I can't speak your name because it's painted onto the outside of my eyelids, but
What happened there, it can't matter
because I've escaped the hellhole town in arizona
and run to goddamed texas
with its cowboy boots and songs about truckin' and sex
but all I can hear is the echo of brass knuckles on my skull
headaches pounding with thoughts of your voice
and I can taste the metal of the bas you stand behind
but see
The brick walls of this townhouse don't shout safety
because nothing does
especially not the scent of grass and blood sweat
still ripling
and what happened there is everything I am but I am everything without it
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